


His Anchor

by Xylophone323



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex(implied), Hurt, M/M, Male!Eivor, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylophone323/pseuds/Xylophone323
Summary: Eivor promised that he will be Sigurd's anchor.
Relationships: Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 89





	His Anchor

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [他的锚](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669986) by [Xylophone323](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylophone323/pseuds/Xylophone323). 



> Translation from my fic so bear with strange grammar mistakes and lame sex scene :D  
> spoiler maybe?? the plot sets after Suthsexe

Eivor kept dreaming about the time they hunt for the rite of passage. There was such a special wolf in the woods, she had the finest skin, the sharpest claw, and the scariest howl. Yet she traveled all alone by herself in the forests of Fornburg.

They spent half of the snow season to track down that wolf, set up traps, and sharpen their axes and knives. Every detail is vividly recreated in those dreams: the scent of burnt wood from the campfire and the firn sit on his hair. The memories were spreading like paint. Before the night they started hunting, King Styrbjorn called Eivor in private. He was standing in corner of the longhouse, hiding his face in shades.

“Eivor, though I adopted you, but you and Sigurd are true brothers. You will support one another in the future. Sigurd has great talent and ambition. he will be like a sailing boat crashing through docks and lands, and never stops.”

“Then I’ll be his anchor, king.” Eivor nodded. He was fully prepared now. His quiver and bag were knocking against each other, making a song for his promise.

Hunting down a wolf was no easy quest. They camped on the hillside in the north. Even those experienced lumberjacks did not dare go so far; the marks on the map were scattered and incomplete. There were times when Sigurd and Eivor got lost. They could only snuggle in the caves and wait for snowy days. Or got hit by some angry deer came out of nowhere.

But one day, Eivor was lost in the woods and parted from Sigurd where the snowy mountains and wilderness were exactly the same. The sky was covered by dark clouds, not one god would help them. Even Freyja has hidden her distaff away. Eivor tried everything. He yelled until he lost his voice and carved on countless trees until his nails were bleeding.

In Eivor’s life, he has rarely been so scared.

* * *

“Eivor...”

“Eivor, wake up!”

Randvi is sitting next to his bed, her hands are squeezed tightly on Eivor’s shoulder and shaking him gently. Sigurd is standing silently at a place far behind. The dim lights reflect their shadows on the wall, make the room less lonely. Eivor’s fingers are pressing on his head, the memories from dreams are flashing through his eyes. His voice is a bit tired: “Randvi...I’m sorry, did I wake you two up again?”

“If you don’t want to share your nightmares with us, Eivor, go and find Valka. Maybe she has some elixir to put you in good sleep.” Randvi looks worried. She hands over a piece of cloth from a desk to Eivor for him wiping the sweats.

“I don’t think I need to. It is not a vision I see. Just... an unforgettable memory.” Eivor glances at Sigurd who standing outside the room. He is watching Eivor like an eagle, his eyes are burning with suspicious fire.

“Randvi,” His tone was commanding and irresistible, “Go to sleep and let me talk to Eivor.”

Despite being worried, Randvi stood up without a word. She gave Sigurd a final worried look and turned away.

After what happened in Suthsexe, Sigurd has changed. He is too tyrannical when he sits on the throne but too fragile when he is not. Most of the time, he would rather contemplate on all those visions he was mumbling about. Eivor told everyone to be patient, and people still trust him and his brother deeply. Not only the residents in Ravensthorpe starts questioning, sometimes his close brother feels Sigurd has become a stranger. As if Fulke cast some sort of spell on him, and swapped his soul with someone.

England’s midsummer has long passed, but Sigurd did not wear anything on top. He is walking slowly towards Eivor. Under the lights of candles, those unhealed wounds are more and more obvious with each step closer. Eivor tried to look away, unable to face the scars on his brother's body because of his failure and incompetence. Sigurd, however, holding Eivor’s cheeks with his fingers and made his brother look up at him straight in the eyes.

“Why don’t you look at me, Eivor? Am I a disgrace to you?” He questioned harshly, with words that only make Eivor’s chest aching more.

“Brother...” Eivor could not say another word, and all the regrets are tearing him apart. He remembered the scene Sigurd nearly died in the church. With all the blood from his people and Dag’s grave to come to this end. It just makes his oath a ridiculous joke.

The deep wounds from the chain whip are swollen on Sigurd’s shoulder, and his skin on the back is completely destroyed by the iron chair. As Eivor gazes at Sigurd’s arm, it is the most heartbreaking thing ever been. Sigurd was so proud of his swordplay, and he will never able to swing it once again. At last, Eivor looked at Sigurd’s eyes. They were filled with the warm sunshine of Fornburg, and the cold moonlight of Mercia. But now those are swallowed by Fenrir, only left with emptiness and nothingness. Eivor’s glance is shivering, he wants to reach his hand to Sigurd, just to feel his existence that he is actually alive in front of him.

Eivor’s finger landed in between wounds and bruises. His fingertip taps on Sigurd’s warm and soft flesh of the body, as his brother is one of his good dreams that will collapse in any minutes. Sigurd grabs Eivor’s hand and presses it hard against to scar next to his heart. This is from long ago, it was an old wound, scabbed over and nearly unrecognizable. But both of them knew where does it come from — The furious wolf showed her fangs to the young hunter, and Sigurd pounced between them. The edge of claws pierced through the armor and left scarlet stains of blood.

Eivor blames himself. If it’s not for him, Sigurd will not be hurt again and again.

“Eivor, don’t feel guilty, what I have been through is all what it meant to be.” Sigurd always has erratic moods, and at this moment he is no longer that aggressive. Instead, he let the old character of big brother slip out and comforts his young brother. He raised his left arm and bowed down next to Eivor. The silent confrontation turned into a familiar hug. Eivor closes his eyes he can now smell the pungent scent of herbs on Sigurd’s neck, and unconsciously draws back a little.

Such a defensive move apparently aroused Sigurd's displeasure. Eivor rushed back to kiss Sigurd on the forehead and cheek, with his guilt and remorse. The brothers were long past the age for such unbridled intimacy, but they were like two wolves licking at each other’s wounds. 

When you plant fire in a haystack and it will go up in flames.

It is not the first time that the shackles of taboo have been unlocked. As Eivor removed his shirt, he feels no shame, but rather reminiscences for the most part. He lost both his parents as a child and was always sticking with Sigurd. So who else would tell him the secrets on the bed?

Every winter they spent together in Norway, Eivor would sleep in Sigurd’s bed. Their bodies were squeezed in a tiny space, ravenously rubbing and hugging each other, then turning to forbidden pleasure. The sex they hid behind locked doors, was more dissolute than gods’ tale but more sincere than any love stories they’ve heard. They were enjoying the games of hiding and seek. Sigurd would pull his brother out from the crowded longhouse and kiss while the parties went on. There were a few times, they sneaked out after raids and vented their desires in the shadows under fire.

“There are too many wounds on you...” Eivor uses his tongue to draw the torments painted on his brother's skin. They are Sigurd's glory as much as Eivor's pain. The memory of Suthsexe has grown blurry, rotting smell of blood, and the fury of vengeance has eaten up all his rationality. The enemies fell down in front of his axe one by one, and they all buried in a tomb with Fulke. All he can remember are the holy cross, the endless fire, and the breathless suffering. Eivor was a compassionate man, only that time he feels no mercy for lives.

After all he had been through, Eivor thought he would get back his brother, his jarl, the one person he used to follow and look up to. And now they are entwined in bed, without even a slice of regret.

Eivor doesn’t care. All he wanted is to catch a glimpse of the past in Sigurd, even if it is only through sex.

Sigurd has no shame in the bed, his movements are a little more forceful than before. He remained silent, fucking Eivor at the pace he wanted. He nibbled at Eivor’s chest and neck, leaving teeth marks like an animal. The sex is just purely rammed in his brother's body with apparently no pleasure to speak of.

The coitus between beasts will be more pleasurable than such a scene. Eivor is biting his palm, not daring to let a sound escape from his teeth. There are no thick doors in the longhouse, and Randvi is only sleeping lightly at best. But the wise woman must have guessed what is happening between the brothers. That may be one of the reasons she refuses even to pretend to be happy with the marriage. And so does Sigurd.

As if Sigurd wants Eivor to make sounds, he pushed his body in and out faster. The blonde Norse leaks out an uncontrollable gasp, eventually climb to the top of the Yggdrasill with thoughts that broke into fragments.

“I am always with you, Eivor.”

The desire inside him is filled and hollowed out several times. Voices and consciousness are fading away. Eivor is wondering if the words were the dream he had longed for or actually a vague confession from his older brother.

* * *

“Eivor?” The young boy was soaked up and even withered leaves on his hair. He was clinging a stone on his hand covered by Eivor’s blood. A wild hound has pointed him the way to his little brother, “Thank gods, I almost thought I'd never see you again.”

“Sigurd! Don't ever leave me alone...” Eivor hurriedly stumbled through the snow that as high as his waist. Each of his steps was so hard, like stepping into a tundra swamp or climbing over the Nidavellir. But he was running towards Sigurd, his brother was also coming to him with open arms.

He remembered that they returned with honors and prizes. They dragged one of the snow wolf's legs each to the bell at the longhouse so that every family in Fornburg could hear and come to the feast. 

* * *

Eivor puts a kiss on Sigurd’s forehead. He doesn’t know what Sigurd would become when the dawn came, but he found Sigurd. Whether it is the freezing snowfield full of wolves; the enemy fortress that has a thousand bows aimed at him, or in the halls of Asgard. Eivor would always find Sigurd, through time, through places.

He suddenly remembered the scene they arguing with King Styrbjorn before they left Norway for England. The old king was still worried after all. He stopped Eivor and carry out his last speech. But Eivor saw no lights shone on the king, he was falling.

“Don’t worry, I will be his anchor, king,” Eivor promised and threw his bag onto the longboat. His mind is eager to write the new chapters of Saga.

“More than that,” King Styrbjorn were watching Sigurd jumped on one of the boats. His sigh blows up a little snowflake, “You will be the other half of his.”

The only way to survive in storms and waves is the boat and the anchor are tied to each other, they could not be separated.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
